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Sunday
Mar302008
So many kinds of losing
March 30, 2008
It seems that grief takes many forms.
There is a wild pain that wakes you up in the night gasping for breath, a panic that makes your heart skip a beat. There are dreams that leave you weeping into your pillow. There can be screaming, anger and striking and tearing. It is the grief for the untimely, for ones who shouldn't have left the earth so quickly.
I've never felt this kind of grief, but I've seen it and I've cried along with those who wake up in those nights with the darkness sitting heavy on them.
There is grief that has you lying in your bed, curled in a ball. Your tears leak into your pillow, you don't want to eat. Food seems pointless. You don't know what to do with the days that stretch on ahead, but you know that you need to be brave, sometime, somewhere. Soon. But now you will just curl up into yourself and cry into the softness. You miss your dear brother, or your husband. You weren't ready to let him go.
I haven't been there, either.
And then there is grief that takes you gently. It is the longing for someone who will never be there again, but who led a long and full life, who had many days, many memories. It is a sharp pang when you look in the mirror and see your curly, curly hair- the hair that didn't come from nowhere, the annoying ringlets that you inherited. It is when you remember your special nickname, the one that your grandma used for you; "Pet Lamb." It is when you think, "Oh please can she come back? Just so I can hug her and smell her one more time? So I can hear her singing while she washed the dishes? So I can write down her stories?"
It is when you stop in your tracks on the way to walking somewhere, stop dead midway, stand staring off. You wait for your heart to feel okay again and then keep going the way you were, toward your kids who are waiting for you. This is the kind that is mine.
There is a wild pain that wakes you up in the night gasping for breath, a panic that makes your heart skip a beat. There are dreams that leave you weeping into your pillow. There can be screaming, anger and striking and tearing. It is the grief for the untimely, for ones who shouldn't have left the earth so quickly.
I've never felt this kind of grief, but I've seen it and I've cried along with those who wake up in those nights with the darkness sitting heavy on them.
There is grief that has you lying in your bed, curled in a ball. Your tears leak into your pillow, you don't want to eat. Food seems pointless. You don't know what to do with the days that stretch on ahead, but you know that you need to be brave, sometime, somewhere. Soon. But now you will just curl up into yourself and cry into the softness. You miss your dear brother, or your husband. You weren't ready to let him go.
I haven't been there, either.
And then there is grief that takes you gently. It is the longing for someone who will never be there again, but who led a long and full life, who had many days, many memories. It is a sharp pang when you look in the mirror and see your curly, curly hair- the hair that didn't come from nowhere, the annoying ringlets that you inherited. It is when you remember your special nickname, the one that your grandma used for you; "Pet Lamb." It is when you think, "Oh please can she come back? Just so I can hug her and smell her one more time? So I can hear her singing while she washed the dishes? So I can write down her stories?"
It is when you stop in your tracks on the way to walking somewhere, stop dead midway, stand staring off. You wait for your heart to feel okay again and then keep going the way you were, toward your kids who are waiting for you. This is the kind that is mine.
Reader Comments (3)
I share the same kind. I miss my grandmother more as time goes on. As my children grow and I not only wish that they could have known her but that I could have learned more from her. As I struggle to get that family recipe just right and know that I'm missing something. As I think of the upcoming election and remember how we would argue over politics.
It is no longer a sharp pain but a dull ache that hits me at different times.
I'm sorry for you loss.
I have never had much of a relationship with any of my grandparents- you're blessed to have loved her so much, and to have been so loved by her. May God give you peace as you tread the waters of grief and try to stay afloat. Hoping to see you soon!
This is a beautiful post. It could and does apply to all kinds of grief, whether it's a spouse (as in my case) a child, a parent, a grandparent, a friend....it is just beautiful and poignant. elaine